


Hot Mess

by afterandalasia



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Community: disney_kink, Dark Character, Dark Esmeralda, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Psychopaths In Love, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:32:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Esmeralda is surprised that the streets of the city do not crack open at her footsteps, the trouble she would spread among them all. Whether Frollo indulges her because of his lust, or whether her actions feed it, she could not possibly say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Mess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little_elfie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=little_elfie).



> From the great [vid prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/9516.html?thread=5620780#t5620780) at the Disney Kink Meme:
> 
>  
> 
> _"Esmeralda is a hot crazy mess, causing trouble wherever she goes and getting off on it. Frollo, mad with power and head-over-heels in lust with his gypsy lover, is happy to indulge her every evil whim."_

Esmeralda wears lipstick the colour of blood, and her teeth shine white against it. She is more beautiful than any whore in Paris, and needs only set her eyes upon a man to have him fall to his knees in awe and desire. It has been this way for so many years that she can no longer remember when the world did not bend and sway for her. Lords have bent to kiss her feet, princes have promised her their lands for one embrace, and judges...  
  
Well, the judge is his own story.  
  
Frollo wears a judge's robe and a judge's impartial expression, and needs stab only a finger, and not a knife, to have a man killed. He has no need of loyalty when tendrils of fear spin out around him like a web, no need of dedication when he has swords at his command.  
  
Only with her has he ever made a bargain: the freedom of her people for the pleasures of her body. She can think of far worse trades, far worse things to do for the sight of her people running free throughout the city, the sound of their laughter echoing through the night.  
  
The guards have been told that should they ever catch her, she is to be bought to Frollo himself, alive. They dare not disobey him, and if ever they do catch her, the judge will simply smirk as she laughs, deep and throaty and bloody-red.  
  
She snatches the helmets from guards' heads and spins them for games, watches as the angry men try to grasp at her darting feet. She cuts the strings from rich men's purses to see the gold scatter and tinkle like so much piss on the city streets. She hitches her skirts as she dances, baring her shapely calves to see the men trail after her like deer in rut, and laughs as they fight over her. Sometimes she feels as if it is a wonder that the stones of the street do not crack beneath her footsteps.  
  
Frollo's men curse her as some sort of demon; later, he does the same, in more lascivious tones as his hands trace the curves of her body. He calls her succubus and lilitu and more, and worships and curses her in equal measure.  
  
Of course, if Frollo's men had more brains then they would be the terror of the streets, but they do not. Frollo finds their fumblings amusing, especially when Esmeralda taunts them, and simply lets them do as they please instead. Or as he pleases, if he wishes to give them orders.  
  
Frollo has houses burnt to light the sky, and loves to watch the blood drip on the stones from lashings given for violations of his arbitrary laws. The King has tried in vain to keep him in check, but Frollo is untouchable.  
  
The latest attempt is a new captain. "Him," Frollo murmurs in Esmeralda's ear. Her hair brushes against his cheek, scent tickling in his nose. "The one in the golden armour."  
  
A smile curls her lips. "I can deal with him."  
  
Within a day, Phoebus de Châteaupers is helplessly in love with her. Within three, he is promising to kill to set her free. Within a week, he is jailed for his words, and she laughs at his outrage and snaps her teeth at his outstretched fingers.  
  
That night, she dances for Frollo on the roof of the Palace of Justice. Exertion and the fires they surround themselves with make sweat bead on her skin, roll down the hollow of her back and stick her hair to her cheeks, but the night air cools her naked flesh. Gold flashes at her wrists and ankles, his presents to her, and he reclines and watches her with hungry eyes as she sways and flows to a music which exists only in their heads. Only when she is half-exhausted, gleaming and flushed in the moonlight, does he pull her to the floor and kiss her hungrily, over and over, until she laughs again and pins him on his back.  
  
"How is your private hell developing, minister?" she whispers in his ear, then drags her tongue across his jaw.  
  
"Burning," he replies, hoarse-voiced, and pulls her down to him again.  
  
The fires paint her skin with gold, and her eyes seem to shine in the darkness. Never has he seen such a beauty, or such an animal. In turn, she brings out the demon in him, as she has from the moment which they met.


End file.
